Day off in Portland
by keyrousse
Summary: Will goes for a drink, meets someone apparently prone to get into trouble. T just because I like that category.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Helloooo, my dear Readers. Missed me? Here I come slightly... no, seriously Renner-gaded, after seeing "The Avengers" (NOT ENOUGH HAWKEYE!) and frustrated that I couldn't buy "Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol" today, because it's released on DVD next Wednesday in my poor country. So here comes my Will Brandt/OFC fic and I'm not sure yet what to do with it.

It's not finished. So there's no guarantee it will be. Maybe even not in English.

I actually thought about publishing it on Archive of Our Own, but since I'm going to get an account there in the middle of July (I love being 6400th in the queue!), I have to settle for publishing it here. ;)

_Disclaimer_: I own no rights to characters you already know. OCs are mine.

Un-beta-ed, so this story is probably gramatically terrible, as everything I've ever written, including stories in my native language.

Have fun reading and remember: I love reviews the most!

* * *

**Part One**

She looked lost.

He needed a break.

* * *

When you're from California, going to Portland, Oregon to drink wasn't the logical idea. Yet, that's what he's done. He had his favorite bar where he was recognized and welcomed with 'another bad day, huh?', even though they'd see him once in two months, maximum. He caught an eye of one of the waitresses, who was owner's elder daughter, maybe that's why he was remembered. He had no idea why was he treated like an old friend: he just came in, ordered a few beers, sometimes a shot of vodka, paid with a generous tip and left. Quiet, non-problematic client. He once admitted that he came here only when he had a bad day; bartender replied that it was good that they saw him so rarely. He smiled at that.

Here he was historian working at college in Vancouver, but living in Portland. Explained his memory and why nobody actually knew him. He was rather ordinarily looking man, so no suspicion there. He wore casual clothes, hiding his well build body. He was nice, smiling, talking little. He loved to be normal, civilian from time to time. He was glad people at the small bar in Portland had no idea how many times he saved their lives.

That evening he left the bar slightly tipsy, but still coherent. He had to be coherent all the time, no matter where he was.

Just outside the bar he noticed her. Average build, wearing sneakers, jeans and light sweater, shoulder bag, earphones on, smartphone in her hand, he heard something said not in English, sounding like swearing. Not a hooker, he knew that, even if it was one of the most favourite places for hookers. She didn't look and move like a hooker, besides, Slavic-sounding twenty-something girl didn't have to sell herself on streets. A tourist, maybe. Lost.

And soon in trouble. He wasn't the only one who noticed her.

He stepped out of the shadows and casually crossed the street, making himself visible to two guys following the girl. He stood between the men and the oblivious girl and turned towards would-be muggers. The men stopped, then turned around and walked away. He smiled.

The girl glanced behind her and noticed him, then she sped up in her pace with not so quiet (thanks to earphones, she couldn't hear herself) "fuck". He smiled and thought about leaving her alone, but the neighborhood wasn't really safe. He could take care of himself, but the lost look on the girl was honestly bothering him. He developed a sixth sense for trouble long time ago and it was active even during his day off.

One second later someone jumped from the shadows directly onto the girl, pushing her to the ground.

She screamed another, uninhibited "fuck". He shouted "hey!" and ran to the scene, grabbed the attacker from behind and threw him away from the girl. When the attacker looked up, he stared right into a barrel of a gun.

"You get the hint, right?", asked the man with a gun. The girl looked terrified, but she slowly rose to her feet from the ground.

The attacker nodded and slowly backed, soon hiding again in the shadows.

He turned towards the girl. Her phone and bag were on the ground, earphones hanging from her collar. He holstered his weapon.

"Not gonna hurt you," he said. She swallowed, not moving from her spot. "Everyone carries a gun here, you know? Especially in this neighborhood. What are you doing here?", he asked. He didn't approach her, he kept his hands visible and away from the gun. She didn't reply. "I understand you know a little bit of English. You okay?"

She nodded.

"Look, there's a bar I know," he said, pointing his finger in right direction. "How about going there, having something to drink and getting to know each other well enough for you to let me guide you towards somewhere safer?"

She swallowed again. Her eyes were dark, big an terrified.

"I'm Will," he said. He knew she understood him. "Come on, you have to sit down."

She moved past him towards the bar, not looking at him. Will picked up her things and went after her, stayed slightly behind.

"Will, you back already?", asked the bartender, eyeing the girl.

"Yeah. Strong tea with stronger insert, if you please," he replied, pointing at the girl and sitting down beside her at the bar.

"No insert, please," she whispered in heavily accented English.

Will nodded to the bartender and placed the bag and phone before her.

"Gonna ask you again: you okay?"

She nodded. She turned off phone's screen (GPS looking for a signal) and put it in her bag, which was then placed on a stool beside her.

"Thank you," she added. "I'm Jo."

"No, you're not, but I'll stick to that," Will smiled. "What are you doing here? It's pretty dangerous."

"Everyone carrying a gun?", she guessed, still not looking at him.

"Not everyone, but close. Good thing for both of us."

When he didn't specifically mention his gun, she realised he didn't want the bartender to know about it.

"There you go," said the bartender, placing big mug of dark liquid on front of Jo. She added two tea spoons of sugar, stirred and sipped carefully.

"Ah, thank you," she said with grateful smile.

"Tea good for everything, huh?", asked Will. He suddenly missed Benji. He was very properly English, including national love for tea.

"No, but it's a good start," she replied.

"Feeling better already?"

"Yes," she said. "And I want to thank you again for saving me," she added sincerely, looking into his eyes. "And I would really appreciate if you helped me with getting somewhere closer to civilization."

"Don't trust me so soon. I'll show you to human beings and it will be over."

Yes. Let out everything you want to and are allowed to say.

She didn't say anything for a few seconds, still staring into his eyes.

"Shame, isn't it," she said finally.

He smiled. Her English was really heavily accented, but she was speaking with ease, not looking for words. And she was rather good looking, but no Jane Carter.

"So, where are you from? Russia? Ukraine?", he asked.

"My lovely accent? I'm from Poland," she replied, drinking more of her tea and looking with gratitude at the bartender after every sip.

"A tourist? I'd rather expect tourists in Seattle or further south."

"Long story, but yes, I'm a tourist."

"I have time. And you have huge mug of hot tea to finish."

She glanced at him. He smiled. She sighed.

"Anybody told you you can make women melt?", she asked suddenly. He raised his eyebrows, bent back and looked at her with surprise on his face.

"Wow. No, you're the first."

It was true. While women didn't run away when he tried to talk to them or was seductive on mission, no-one actually admitted he was good looking. Or making anyone melt.

"I know it sounds weird and probably you're gonna think I'm crazy after being almost mugged or worse, but really. You can be cute in that-" she made 'quote' sign with her fingers "-'I'm not aware of it' way."

"Okay, guys don't like to be called cute," he laughed.

"This is the first and the last time I see you, I have nothing to lose." She turned towards him and holding his gaze, she said "You are really sweet, nice, good looking man with lovely smile. If I had any means of showing my gratitude, I would."

He cleared his throat and glanced at the bartender.

"No insert, like she said," the bartender protested.

"Okay, this is getting weird," she realised, blushed and focused back on her tea.

"Thank you," Will said with seriousness in his voice. "I understand you're grateful and I'm happy about it, but you don't have to make it any more awkward."

She nodded, not looking at him.

"So, again, what are you doing here?", he asked to change the subject.

"Getting lost," she replied quietly. She glanced at him. He stared at her with patience in his eyes. "I was invited to a movie set around here. Movie is based on a story I wrote very long time ago."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'm surprised they actually bothered with inviting me, so maybe it all is some kind of scam, but I don't care. I've never been so far from home and I always wanted to see USA, so whatever they get from me being here, it's a win-win situation."

"So, you're a writer?"

"No, I'm a dentist."

Thank God he could allow himself to be surprised by this. Normally he had to be prepared for everything.

"A few years back I wrote this drama story for international literary competition and I was close to the top," she started to explain, still staring at her tea. "Story was published anyway, then translated. Some time ago a production company bought rights to film it. Money wasn't so big, but I could smooth some of my things out. Then I got this invitation to USA, although I realise that's not what filmmakers usually do, especially when there's not much left of my original story in the script. Probably they think I'm some stupid, easily impressed girl from poor country. But hey, not my problem as long as I'm taken care of and able to get back home," she shrugged.

"But you don't write for a living," he clarified.

"No. I haven't written anything in a long time, which is sad. I guess I'm too busy working."

"I admit, I'm impressed. Really unusual."

"Yeah. Should I be worried?", she glanced at him.

"That they let you wander around without properly working GPS and get into trouble? Maybe."

She smiled.

"Well, I get impressed easily. And I can be really stupid."

He returned her smile. She seemed very far from stupid. It took some intelligence to be a dentist and learn English to this level of ease of use, and Poland was not the far side of the world, he knew that much. Sure, she wasn't in her comfort zone, but she bounced back from initial shock very quickly and he was sincerely enjoying the conversation.

"So? What do you do for a living?," she asked and he mentally winced. Time for official lies.

"I'm a historian, working in Vancouver."

"Yeah? Any specific period and area?"

"Post World War II, Central and Eastern Europe and former USSR." Considering IMF was pretty often interested in bad guys from Russia or generally former USSR, this easily became his area of expertise. No lie there.

"Niiiice. So you actually know where Poland is! Big plus on my list. I'm not going to sleep with you anyway," she deadpanned, taking a large gulp of her tea.

"Good to know!", he replied, laughing. "My God, pay for your tea and get to your hotel by yourself, I'm no longer interested."

She smiled.

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry for OCCness, and yes, Jo is partially based on me. She's braver, more mouthy and travelling further version of me.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: In case anyone's wondering, I didn't (almost) win international literary competition. I won one on province level, but I was 13-year-old and writing original stories, not fanfics. ;)

Anyone knows how long exactly Brandt was an analyst/Hunt was in prison? Was it mentioned in M:I?

_Disclaimer_: Characters you know are not mine.

Thank you for past reviews and the ones you're still going to post! ;)

* * *

**Part Two**

They sat by the table and drinking non-alcoholic beverages they spent almost two hours talking, mostly about movies. She admitted her love to spy and action movies and frequently changing idols. Will let her do most of the talking, thinking how easy it was to actually feel normal, not threatened by some crazies, not preparing for another twenty feet jump with magnets to protect him from being punctured or chopped to pieces by a huge fan. He knew he couldn't let his guard down for too long, but during that time he really felt like ordinary man. Even with a gun reminding him he was not the man he claimed to be now.

Nice evening was destroyed by a quiet chirp of his phone. Ethan sent a message he was on his way to Portland and that they were to meet in two hours.

"I have to get this," he said with regret. "But I'll walk you out of here, if you want me to."

"Family not-so-much emergency?" she asked.

'_Family, yeah. If you can call crazy IMF agent my family_,' he thought.

"Kind of, yes," he said instead.

"What kind of historian has not-so-much emergency calls at midnight, carries a gun to a bar and most certainly knows how to use it?", she asked quietly.

He regarded her calmly.

"You watch too many action movies," he said after a few seconds of silence.

"And I'm proud of it," she replied.

He didn't say anything, just smiled, but he felt he didn't want to spend too much more time with her. She seemed harmless on the surface, but on the other hand, God knows who she really was. Given her behaviour, she probably really was slightly paranoid Polish dentist, since some kind of spy wouldn't challenge him so openly. He decided to go with historian story and not react to this in any serious way.

"Come on, where is your hotel?" he asked. "I'd call a taxi for you, but they are not really reliable to take short and safe route to your place."

She gave him the address, seemingly dropping the subject of his 'story'. It turned out to be a half an hour walk in the direction she had been already heading when he first had noticed her. And he had left his car nearby that hotel before he came here to drink, but of course he couldn't tell her that.

"Do you trust me enough to let me go with you?" he asked, paying the bill.

"Well, I don't have much of a choice," she replied, checking her phone. "If you decide to rape me there's nothing I can do, if not, I can only hope you'll defend me again if necessary."

"I like that attitude," he said with a smile. "Okay, let's go."

The night wasn't very warm, but they both were dressed properly. They were walking in silence. Jo was focusing on a pavement before her, Will was looking out for trouble, but his sixth sense was calm. He walked with his hands in his pockets, relaxed and a little bit sobered. He felt bad for stupid message from Ethan destroying quite a nice evening, but there was nothing he could do now. Anyway, he wouldn't be seeing Jo again, so it didn't matter. Not that he fell in love with her. She was nice and witty, and fun to talk to, but not enough to make him feel attracted to her.

It was almost 1 AM when they reached her hotel. It was cheap but decent. They stood before the front door.

"I would invite you inside, but I think I need to sleep. I'm supposed to go to Seattle tomo... today," said Jo. He nodded.

"That's fine. I need to attend to my 'not-quite family emergency' anyway," he replied, smiling softly.

"Yeah. Sorry about that. I was half-stupid then and I really watch too many action movies," she said, lowering her gaze to the ground.

"No, hey, I admit, I have a past and I'm slightly paranoid, hence the gun," Will raised his hand in peaceful gesture. "Not your average boring historian, believe me. I'm glad anyway to I was able to help and keep you safe."

"Yes, I was really lucky you were there. Thank you again, for everything," Jo replied and kissed him lightly on both cheeks.

"You're welcome," said Will. "Hey, where can I find your story? I'd like to read that before I see the movie."

"On the Internet? You know, if you cannot find it with Google, it doesn't exist?", she replied with a smile and raised eyebrows. "Bye," she added and went through the door, not looking back.

He saw her going to the reception desk and collect her key. Out of habit he remembered the pigeonhole the key was taken from, then turned away and went to his car to wait for Ethan.

* * *

After Julia Hunt's "death" he wasn't made Chief Analyst of the IMF because the Secretary wanted to make him feel better after a lie he had to be provided, no. He was made Chief Analyst because after four weeks of training and catching up with the data he really was the best analyst they had at the time. Well, he still would be the best analyst if he didn't return to the field.

William Brandt was a quiet genius, even if no-one ever admitted it out loud. That made him potentially better agent than legendary Ethan Hunt, especially now, when he learned how to get a little rogue for a mission. William's team "before Julia" had been of three people, not four, like Ethan's, because IMF knew how good William was even then – he just needed another field agent and tech support with field skills. It wasn't enough to stop the events in Croatia from happening, but still. Quiet genius had little chance against determined "Field God" in person of Ethan Hunt anyway.

When William Brandt reached his car, the Will, quiet historian working in Vancouver was long gone. Now he was Agent Brandt, soon on a mission.

* * *

He spent his time waiting for Ethan on doing some not really legal research. Provided with a laptop with truly useful software, he was more than capable with obtaining his own data without help from IMF HQ. He had no idea why Ethan was coming, so he searched after his new acquaintance. Breaking into hotel's mainframe was a piece of cake. Soon he found female guest with not-so-Polish sounding name, Joanna Miller. There was not other "Jo" in the hotel. Then he checked Polish register of doctors: yes, there was an active, twenty-something dentist with that name. Then he simply Googled her, looking for her story. No matching hits.

He decided that maybe she had written it under a pseudonym and left it at that. He put down his laptop and settled comfortably in driver's seat with his hand ready on the gun. He wanted to catch as much sleep as he could. He had slept for seven hours after a mission that made him arrive here, he expected to be sent on another one straight away, so even half an hour of sleep mattered.

He was awake the second he sensed someone approaching, so he involuntarily welcomed Ethan with a gun pointed at his face. Ethan stood by the passenger's door and smiled lightly. Will put down his gun and unblocked the door.

"It's just the two of us?", Will asked.

"You were already here, Benji's in HQ and he'll help us from there, Jane's not really in shape for another mission...", Ethan said, but was cut off by already annoyed Will.

"As if I couldn't tell! I thought you'd bring a temporary replacement."

Ethan regarded him calmly.

"Are you going to feel guilty after every mission that goes even slightly off the track?", he asked.

"I already had my guilt trip, so can you get to the point?", Will snapped, reaching out to Ethan. Hunt placed an iPhone in his hand.

"Take your time," said Ethan, closed the door and moved away from the car.

He watched as Will put in his earphones and started the recording. After three minutes he plucked out his earphones, there was a spark, Will took a deep breath, slowly left the car, put the phone on the ground and stepped on it repeatedly. Unnecessary measures, but, as Ethan started to realise, legal way to lose some frustration. Will looked calm on the surface, but Ethan could guess he was pissed off.

"Ethan...", Brandt started slowly, raising his bright and suddenly ice-cold eyes and looking at his team leader. "How many movie sets are in Portland?"

* * *

A/N: In case anyone wanted to check the register of doctors, luckily there is no Joanna Miller, General Dental Practitioner or any doctor of that name in Poland. ;)

Now here comes the tough part. I'm not sure I'm capable of writing action story in English. But I'll leave you with that small twist 'till the time I decide to publish another part.


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